


The Devil, Capital D

by snailmeamail



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: 50s au, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Canon Divergent, Detective Noir, Fix-It, M/M, Pierce is written as bi, headcanons, netflix owes me royalties, no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21974305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snailmeamail/pseuds/snailmeamail
Summary: Detective Marcus C. Pierce takes a disturbing case to the local bar, hoping for something to finally click. He gets his answer and more when the bartender pours him a drink.(Noir AU Piercifer - Takes place in the 50's-60's)
Relationships: Lucifer Morningstar & Marcus Pierce, Lucifer Morningstar/Marcus Pierce
Comments: 13
Kudos: 107





	The Devil, Capital D

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first fic i have ever posted. i write a lot but i dont usually post but now that i have an ao3 account...what the heck, right? what do i have to lose? this came up after i watched season three and fox disappointed me with a needless Chloe/Lucifer/Pierce triangle. so, going off of the broken hearts killer episode, i decided to take the pierce 50s detective era and completely make it my own. also i just think this ship needs more content.

Something slow and soft was playing in the background.

A woman, voice grainy through the record player, sang about love. It was like she was lost in the concept of it. A detective, cigar ash on his rolled up sleeves and mud stains on his shoes, sat alone at the bar. He traced the rim of his glass. It had been empty for a while now; he couldn't find the energy to call for the bartender. Besides, he already had several drinks. Getting a taxi at that hour would be near impossible.  
  
His hat, as well as many case files, sat on the bar. The bloody face of Ilene Hargrove, thirty-eight years old and head beaten in with a sledgehammer, stared up at him. Her ex-husband James Hargove found her in the park they had frequented earlier that month. That day was supposed to be their six year anniversary. They had heard a rumor from Ilene's sister Martha that Ilene divorced James because of possible domestic abuse.  
  
He hated how common it was in that age; before, women were treated like goddesses. Now, they were nothing but housewives. They tended to their husbands, the kids, and the house. It was unjust. They became tools. They were seen as appliances, no better than a toaster. He couldn't rule out the possibility of a crazy ex. James had told him about one of Ilene's friends confronting the couple on one of their walks in the park. His name was Robert. Though Marcus couldn't condone the suspect's actions, he knew how he felt. Seeing someone you love move on to someone else, someone that made them happier than you did...It drove you crazy. Love made you psycho.  
  
So, he stayed out of it. Love and all its ugliness. It stung like the mark on his arm. The very idea of love reminded him of the battle against the Persians, so long ago...he'd rather have gone back there than to have to deal with love. A spear in the chest was better than all the men in the world. Or, rarely, women. He wasn't picky.  
  
He sighed. He closed the folder. On the cover, under the LAPD symbol in stamp ink, was his name.  
  
 _Dt. Marcus C. Pierce  
_  
The corner of his mouth lifted a bit. No one would ever believe the C stood for Cain. When he told the lieutenant, he thought Marcus was from some sort of family of religious nuts.

 _No,_ he had laughed. Short and dry. _It's God-given, really._ He wasn't lying. Technically.

His glass begun filling with whiskey. The neck end of a bottle was tipping into it. He looked up. The bartender was smiling at him. He didn't smile back. He didn't want to look too unfriendly, though, so he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  
"You look down," the bartender said. Marcus observed he had an English accent. He dipped a few letters here and there. "Something wrong, detective?"

  
The man's eyes were narrowed, though not in a hostile way. It was more like a cat who caught something of interest.

"How'd you know I'm a detective?" He replied cautiously.

"Simple, really. You've been staring at that evidence folder for hours now. It's got your name on it and everything. LAPD isn't that sneaky, are they, putting their brand on everything?"  
  
 _Like a certain egotistical force of nature,_ the detective thought to himself. He swore he could hear lightning outside.  
  
The bartender leaned over the bar to read the label on the front of the folder. He was so close Marcus saw the finer hairs of his well-trimmed beard. His hair was gelled back, obviously, by how it shone in the light. Dark, shiny hair and a scruffy yet elegant beard. The man knew how to take care of himself. Marcus scratched his lighter dirty blonde beard self-consciously.  
  
He let his eyes wander just a little lower. Only past the neck; he wasn't _that_ lonely just yet.  
  
The man wore a deep black vest over a white dress shirt. The sleeves, like his, were rolled up to the elbow. On his right hand was a black opal ring. He was much taller than Pierce. The detective only reached up to his chin.  
  
The ring looked too expensive to be owned by a bartender in a less than popular bar. Perhaps a thief, though he didn't hear of any new cases about it. It was possible he was also a runaway from another city.  
  
That he could drink to.  
  
The bartender leaned back, still smiling. Marcus could've sworn his teeth were just a little bit sharper than normal. Brown eyes stared into his but in the light they seemed golden. The gold was soft, like flickering candlelight.  
  
" _Detective Marcus C. Pierce,"_ he read aloud. "Is that so? What's the C stand for?"  
  
He didn't realize how much he liked hearing him say his name until he waited for him to say it again. The bartender looked expectantly at him. His eyebrows were raised. He was waiting for an answer.  
  
Marcus rubbed the back of his neck. What on earth was he doing?  
  
"Charlie," Marcus replied quickly. It was a lie he prepared just in case someone might look too closely into him. "It's Charlie."  
  
"Well, Detective Marcus 'Charlie' Pierce," the man extended his hand over the bar. "My name is Lu. How do you do?"  
  
Marcus took his hand in a firm shake. He felt as though "Lu" wasn't really his name, but he didn't have the strength to care. He hadn't had it in a long time.  
  
"Lu," Marcus repeated. "Pleasure."  
  
"Pleasure's all mine, detective," Lu purred. He put the whiskey bottle on the bar. "I've always admired the LAPD...I think I'd make a great detective."  
  
"Really?" He couldn't sound more disinterested. Lu was being friendly with him but he couldn't let himself get into a conversation. One thing would lead to another and he might do something he'd regret. No more attachments, no more monuments to loves he had to leave behind.  
  
"Don't you think?" Lu didn't sound disheartened by his lack of interest. "Not like those boys in blue, no. The _real_ deal, like you!"  
  
Lu picked up his hat from the bar and put it on. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his slacks. His shoulders were set squarely.

  
"My name is detective Morningstar," he said in a gruff, overly-deep voice. "Here in LA, crime never sleeps. Neither do I."

He kept the position for a few more seconds before he broke composure laughing. It was soft and light but full of _life_. When he laughed, his teeth showed. Perfect white and canines sharper than he had ever seen on anyone.

The corner of his mouth would dimple when he smiled. Marcus sucked in a breath. It felt like the more Lu laughed, the less air he had.

  
He knew _exactly_ why. He hated it.

  
Lu looked back up at him. His golden eyes peeked out from under the rim of his fedora.

  
Oh, he very much hated it.

  
"Don't look so long in the jowls there," he laughed. "I'm only joking."

  
"It's not that," Marcus managed. To stop himself from talking further, he picked up his glass and took a long drink. It was so long the air became awkward between them. His hat was plopped back onto the bar.

"Ah, I know now. I know _exactly_ what's ailing you. Miss Ilene Woods isn't helping with your problem, is she?"  
  
"What are you on about?" He fixed Lu with a cold stare. Usually it would make someone gulp down their words and forget talking to him. It only made him straighten up just a little higher like he was rising to meet his challenge.  
  
"Love," he said simply, holding his hands out as though he was a preacher. "It's all about love."  
  
"Love," Marcus repeated, eyebrow raised. He wasn't wrong but he refused to admit it. "You think love is what's getting me down?"  
  
"If I love again," Lu sang softly along to Miss Woods in the background. " _Though it's someone new, if I love again, it will still be you._ Ilene knows, darling."

 _Darling_. Marcus blew a sharp breath out of his nose. It felt like he had just been strangled.  
  
No one had called him that for a very long time. But...it wasn't like he _desired_ to be called that. Desire wasn't really at the forefront of his mind right now. It was and should've been only the case but the way Lu sang and enjoyed his less than pleasant company...  
  
For the first time in a long time, he wanted to be wanted. He wanted to _want_. To need. In his existential prison, he could get anything he wanted. But right then and there, in that bar, he wanted Lu.  
  
He wanted to...to... His eyes drifted back to the folder on the bar.  
  
 _Detective Marcus C. Pierce_ , it read. His middle name wasn't Charlie. When you've had centuries of a lifetime, you tend to master almost everything. Lying included. Fake names, fake IDs, forged documents. They all had his true name as the middle initial.  
  
Marcus "Cain" Pierce.  
  
That's who he was, who he truly was underneath the suit and badge. The world's first murderer. Lu was, so far, a somewhat innocent man. He couldn't drag someone else down with him.  
Not after Agatha or Chris or Marius or even Napoleon. Now that was a very long story. It was literally one for the history books. After France was liberated, some celebrated quite...extremely. Nakedly.  
  
When the great Napoleon had died of a stomach ulcer, he was there. They laughed about it, just before he died. The history books didn't mention that.  
  
He wanted Lu. He did. But he didn't want to have to leave him behind.  
  
He looked back up. The bartender was looking at him like a kicked puppy, eyes wide and unsure.  
  
"I-I'm sorry," he stuttered. It was the first time Marcus had heard him lose composure. "I know how people are... _uncomfortable_ with that sort of thing. I didn't think before I..."  
  
"No." He leaned in close. "No, it's okay. I, ah, swing both ways, if you catch my drift. Not that, um, I mean-"  
  
"Oh?" Lu's eyes lit up, right back to the flickering gold. "I do, too, detective. I'm so glad they let us queers onto the force. Especially such a strapping man like yourself."  
  
Marcus looked around the bar before replying. He ignored the compliment. "No one in the 'force' knows. I'd like to keep it that way, if you would, Lu."  
  
Lu smiled brightly. He put a hand to Marcus's shoulder. The detective couldn't stop himself from looking at it. It was the same hand with the ring.  
  
"Detective," he said. "I think I quite like you."  
  
Marcus only nodded. The urge to say more was biting at him.  
  
"Your name isn't really Lu, is it?" He blurted out. "You said your last name was Morningstar."  
  
Only one man was capable of having that last name unless he was right in his suspicion that “Lu” was just an eccentric man. He hoped to God (ugh) that he was right.  
  
The question barely broke through Lu's perfectly measured composure. His smile got just that much smaller.  
  
"Now, detective," He clicked his tongue. "That's a rather personal question. I think it's best if we keep away from that sort of stuff right now. But...yes. My last name is Morningstar. Does it sound familiar?"  
  
Marcus sighed and took a drink. That same feeling, the wriggling suspicion, was buzzing through his fingertips.  
  
"Not at all." He was good at lying, even to himself.  
  
"Now that that's out of the way, why don't we get to know--"  
  
Even if he had been accustomed to the sound, a gunshot ringing out through the bar made him flinch. A glass bottle on the shelves behind the bar shattered. The alcohol dripped down onto the floor.  
  
Someone screamed. There were footsteps dashing this way and that.  
  
The voice of Ilene Woods distorted as the record player was tossed to the ground in the commotion.  
  
He turned around, sliding off his stool. Anyone who hadn't run out the door and past the man with the gun was cowering behind the bar or under tables.  
  
His hand immediately moved to the holster under his coat.  
  
"I'd rather you not do that, detective," James Hargove spat. "Hands where I can see them or there'll be more glass flying."  
  
"Okay," he said calmly, slowly raising his hands. "Okay. Let's take it easy, Mr. Hargove."  
  
"She wanted a divorce," James' voice was shaking, as his hand was. "After six years, she wanted a divorce. I loved her and it broke my damn heart to sign that form but I knew she wasn't happy. I knew that _I_ couldn't make her happy."  
  
"James--"  
  
Marcus slowly started moving towards him. One step at a time. James's eyes were trained on his steps but immediately darted back up in panic.  
  
He lifted the gun higher.  
  
"But when I saw her in the park, _our_ park, with _Robert_ of all people, I couldn't stop myself. So, when she was walking alone, I got the hammer from our garage and I...I..."  
  
Marcus was close enough now to see he was crying.  
  
"I did it. I dumped the hammer under some bench and I left. Robert didn't confront us last week; he just said hello and I got defensive. I hated him. _Hate_ him."  
  
"James," the detective said gently, holding out a hand placatingly. "I know how hard it is to see the woman you love with someone else, okay? I know. I've been there. But I need you to lower the gun. You said you couldn't make Ilene happy anymore and you got upset. You thought if you couldn't make her happy, who deserved to?"  
  
Silently, cheeks wet, James nodded. His arm lowered slightly but his grip on the gun was deathly tight.  
  
"But you hurt her. You hit her and treated her like garbage. Martha told us everything. How did you think that was going to make her happy? We saw the scars post-mortem. Did the bruises on her legs make her happy? The cuts?"  
  
"Sh-She wouldn't shut up about how horrible her life was so I _made_ her be quiet. When she divorced me, that was the final straw. I only went through with it because I was sick of her. When she left, I realized how much I needed her."  
  
 _You depended on her, you sick bastard,_ he thought bitterly. His hand slowly touched the gun in his holster.  
  
"Come to the station," he said instead. "We'll get your statement and-"  
  
"Frankly, detective Pierce, I can't believe you're treating this bastard so nicely."  
  
Marcus swore under his breath. He turned to look at the bar without turning his back to James.  
  
Lu was standing in the middle of the knocked over barstools, arms crossed. The shoulders of his white dress shirt were stained brown with alcohol. He looked furious.  
  
It might've been the red wallpaper of the bar reflecting but Marcus could've sworn Lu's eyes were _red_. The most disturbing part wasn't his eyes; it was the fact that he was still smiling.  
  
"Lu," he said through gritted teeth. "Let me handle this."  
  
"You said you couldn't make Ilene happy," Lu hissed at James. He started to walk towards him. "So, you killed her, is that it? You hurt her and got surprised when she reacted negatively and _left?_ "  
  
The gun clicked.  
  
"Stay back," James shouted. "Stay back or else."  
  
"You couldn't stand seeing her happy so you took away the one chance she had to _be_ happy?"  
  
"I-It isn't like that-"  
  
"Isn't it, James? Isn't it? You both went your separate ways mutually because you were sick of each other. If you couldn't have her, then no one could. You took away her choice when you took her life."  
  
"H-Her choice?"  
  
Lu was closer now. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides.  
  
"She had a choice when she divorced you, a new beginning. She could've found a good home, lived a good life. One where she would be treated kindly. But no, because you, a selfish man, felt like you could manipulate her, she ended up dead in Romania Park with her head beat in."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"Lu--" Marcus looked at the bartender in desperation. Lu didn't meet his eyes. They were glaring daggers at James.  
  
His voice was louder now, though not a shout. It was angry. It was a snarl.  
  
"You know I'm right, James. I don't lie. I have never lied. If not for you and your desperate need for dominance, Ilene would be still alive. You remind me of my father, you know that? Thinking he can take away my choice and then manipulate me into doing whatever he pleases for his own selfish enjoyment-"  
  
 _"I SAID SHUT UP!"  
_  
It felt like everything was in slow motion.  
  
Ilene Woods's distorted voice, muffled as though underwater, played in the background. People cowered under tables.  
  
James pulled the trigger. The _bang_ was just as quiet as the music. The flash of light blinded him for a moment.  
  
He watched the bullet sail through the air.  
  
He watched Lu, who was in its trajectory, standing there with a tiger-toothed snarl.  
  
Marcus reached for him. It felt like he was walking through mud.  
  
He couldn't lose Lu, not another one. Even if he was just a bartender, there was something there for him. He wasn't like everyone else; everyone always wanted him. _He_ never wanted anyone until Lu.  
  
 _If I love again...  
_  
He never wanted to see another man smile as widely or laugh as cheerfully until Lu. Nor did he want anyone to pour him a drink or tell him stories or say his name in that accent and turn the A's into _ah_.  
  
 _...it will still be you  
_  
Was that him panickedly shouting Lu's name amidst the chaos?  
  
Everything seemed to happen so fast.  
  
He waited for Lu to fall or for blood to start spattering from his abdomen. One hint of scarlet apart from Lu's eyes.  
  
Nothing of the sort happened.  
  
Lu barely even flinched. Where the wound should've been a bullet hole stood in its place. No blood, not even an exit wound.  
  
The bullet fell to the floor.  
  
He looked up and smiled coldly at James. The man had dropped the gun, hands shaking wildly. His eyes were wide.  
  
"W-What the fuck," he hoarsely yelled. "I-I shot you! What the fuck are you?"  
  
"You shot my expensive Italian dress shirt," Lu said, pointing to the bullet hole in his shirt. "As for what I am..."  
  
Before Marcus could do anything, Lu surged forward and grabbed James by the collar, slamming him into the wall. A few picture frames fell onto the floor. He looked up closely at the man, still smiling.  
  
Marcus backed away. The intense suspicion buzzing in his fingertips was drumming through his chest now, throbbing in his ears.  
  
Lu's eyes were _red._

He really wasn't like everyone else.  
  
"...I'm the Devil."  
  
He started laughing. It was different from when he had joked earlier; it was cruel and snarling.  
  
He didn't see what James saw, but whatever it was, it made the man scream, like he was being burned alive.  
  
Lu dropped him. James fell onto the floor. He tried to back away as much as possible, driving his back into the wall. He covered his eyes with his hands, whimpering.  
  
Lu stepped back and turned to face a dumbstruck Marcus. He saw the detective had pulled out his gun. He chuckled. The laugh sent a shiver down Marcus's spine. He had never heard something like that in all his centuries of existence.  
  
"No need for that, detective," he said. "I think I've got it all covered."  
  
  
\--  
  
  
James was arrested and taken away. The last few cops milling about the bar were gathering evidence and checking a few witnesses' testimonies before they headed out.  
  
Marcus saw Lu in the corner of his eye. The man was sitting on a barstool. His hands were on the bar.  
  
The detective went and sat beside him. He saw Lu was reading his case file. For a moment, he thought his eyes were watery as he stared down at the grotesque picture of Ilene Hargrove.  
  
"Are you all right?" Marcus asked. He stared at the bullet hole in his shirt. "I mean, of course you are, you didn't...you didn't bleed. How didn't you bleed? Didn't it hurt?"  
  
"It never hurts, detective," he replied quietly. He sounded sad. "I'm not like other people, you see."  
  
"Yeah," he laughed dryly. "You're the Devil, apparently."  
  
Lu stared at him, eyes still watery. They were narrowed but not in anger. They were tired eyes.  
  
"Wait...you weren't joking."  
  
Lu shook his head.  
  
"You're actually the...?"  
  
He smiled in a way that said, _What do you think?_ That was all the proof he needed.  
  
Lu. Morningstar. He was right.  
  
 _Lucifer Morningstar._  
  
Marcus exhaled deeply. He put a hand to his head. Everything suddenly became clear to him. He had been conversing with the actual real Devil, Satan himself. Samael, the Lightbringer, whatever the books called him. The fallen angel. It was funny, considering, but Marcus thought he'd have wings if he were a fallen angel.  
  
"I pictured you with horns," Marcus said flatly for lack of a better answer. "And a pitchfork. What's the Devil doing bartending in LA? Aren't you supposed to be in Hell?"  
  
Lucifer laughed, that soft, sad chuckle. He still kept his eyes on Ilene's photo.  
  
"Despite what the books tell you, detective, I don't have horns or a tail. I had a pitchfork once but it was a hassle to lug the bloody thing around all the time. It made for a very good gift for Mazikeen, though. As for the bartending...I take time away from Hell every now and then. Not for very long, though. A few weeks, maybe a month."  
  
Lucifer finally looked at him when he caught the detective staring at the bullet hole in his stomach intensely. He smiled a little wider.  
  
"I don't bleed like you do," he said, gesturing to the hole. "Or get hurt like you do. Can't die either, so that's a plus."  
  
"You're like..." He trailed off.

 _Like me._  
  
"Hm?" Lucifer raised his eyebrows.  
  
Marcus's eyes darted to the folder. The picture of Ilene's head beaten in and bloody stared back at him with one functioning eye. He swallowed dryly.  
  
It reminded him who he was in the city's eyes: a detective. A normal, mortal detective who could bleed and die. A normal detective who met the world's most infamous immortal. A man who didn't kill his brother and spent the next few centuries cursing God for it.  
  
A man who, for once, could enjoy a drink with another man he lov...liked without worrying about what came and left afterwards because it wouldn't be a problem. Lucifer was immortal. He wouldn't lose him like everyone else.  
  
When a few hundred years would pass and Lucifer would ask him why he wasn't aging, then he'd tell him. But that was a hundred years from then.  
  
His confession could wait.  
  
"...like a super hero," he continued awkwardly. "Or something. Like in the comics."  
  
"Well, I don't know anything about that," Lucifer replied, always composed. "But thank you?"  
  
Marcus nodded. Mentally, he wanted to slap himself. He wasn't good with emotions, even after centuries of the stuff. It was all so...trivial. When he was confronted with it, his head got all fuzzy and the back of his mouth felt like it was made of cotton. His fingertips buzzed with nervous electricity.  
  
Or...was that *just* when Lucifer was talking or saying his name?  
  
"Detective? Has the alcohol finally caught up to you? Detective?"  
  
Marcus blinked. Lucifer was waving a hand in his face. He pushed it aside. The bartender scoffed.  
  
"It's Marcus," he said, eyebrows set. "You don't have to keep calling me the detective."  
  
"I think it's endearing," he argued. "But fine; Marcus it is. And since we're on the topic of names, you can keep calling me Lu. Or Lucy. 'Luce' is off the table until the second date."  
  
"The second...?"  
  
Oh. He was flirting. Marcus coughed. He took a drink out of his half empty glass. If it wasn't embarrassment flushing his face, it would be the alcohol.  
  
Once he finished, he set the glass down and cleared his throat.  
  
"This city gets crazier and crazier every day," he sighed. "Nothing I haven't seen before."  
  
Lucifer nodded. His smile was gone. He was still staring intently at the picture.  
  
His eyes were watery, eyebrows drawn in tightly. He was biting his lip.  
  
"Lu?" He said quietly. "What you said back there, about your father--God, I guess...was it true? Did he do that to you?"  
  
When he didn't respond, Marcus put a hand on his leg nervously. Lucifer's eyes darted over to it.  
  
"...I didn't think God was like that."  
  
He knew God was *exactly* like that. Manipulative. Condemning someone to a cruel fate and toying with them all throughout their punishment.  
  
Lucifer scoffed, finally looking up at him. His eyes shone in the light but not golden, nor red. They were dark, normal brown.  
  
"Many think my father is kind," he said through a torn smile. "Helpful, even. But they don't know him like I do. He always loved my siblings. The only reason I got the keys to Hell was because I led a rebellion against him and I *failed*. So, he casted his son, the Lightbringer, into hell to think about what he's done. And I've been thinking for centuries now."  
  
Lucifer put a hand on his, looking at him as if asking _I_ s _this okay?_ Marcus nodded as an answer.  
  
"And," he continued. "And I realized that no matter what I do...he will still find ways to manipulate me and...And turn me into something I'm _not._ ”

"What is it that he's trying to do to you?"  
  
"Haven't you heard the stories, detective? I'm the source of the world's evil; I am behind every bad person, every wrong move."  
  
The grip on his hand got tighter. It was almost painful. Marcus kept silent. He knew Lu needed to talk about it.  
  
"I _punish_ evil. I'm not evil."  
  
His grip weakened. He grasped Marcus's hand with both of his. He looked directly into the detectives eyes.  
  
"I don't want to be evil." A whisper so small, so fragile, yet still there.  
  
"Lu, you're not evil," he said gently. "You're a strong man. You don't have to be what your father wants you to be. But...can I ask? Why are you telling me this?"  
  
"Because, Marcus, I'm not going to be here forever. I wanted someone to know before I leave."  
  
Marcus's heart started beating in his ears. Before he could stop himself he got off his stool, nearly knocking it over in the process. Lucifer looked at him in surprise.  
  
"You're leaving?"  
  
"I...I can't stay forever, detective. I leave in two months. Dear old dad will know if I don't so I have to go, lest he send Amenadiel for me."  
  
"But you can't just leave," Marcus strained for a good reason. "Because...because I..."  
  
"Darling, spit it out."  
  
"...you're not like anyone I've met before. This-us-could work! There'll never be another person like you, Lucifer. Someone who's...who's like m...I'm not good with these things. I'm not. But I'm telling you, please; don't go."  
  
Slowly, Lucifer got off of his stool, still holding Marcus's hand. He fixed the detective with a smile, the same breezy carefree smile.  
  
His eyes were brown. He wasn't staring into the Devil anymore; a man was staring at him with something cheeky in his eyes. The first in a long time.  
  
Lucifer brought Marcus's hand to his lips in a kiss. The detective nearly pulled his hand away but kept still. The spot where Lucifer had been was warm. It didn't help with the buzzing since he had drunken about ten glasses of alcohol beforehand. He was nearly dizzy and cotton-brained. He couldn't form anything coherent apart from a small "Lu."  
  
The bartender let go of his hand. He tucked his own into his slacks.  
  
"Marcus," he said gently. "You, too, are unlike anyone I've ever met here on Earth. You're not religious as far as I can tell because you didn't go racing for the hills or the church the minute I told you I was the Devil. You are also the first man to believe that I am indeed the Devil, capital D. So, for that...I thank you. It was nice to know humans aren't so bad after all. But I have to go. Hell won't manage itself."  
  
"Well," Marcus said, "Some are a little harder to get used to."  
  
As long as Lucifer still believed he was human, everything could still work. They could still work.  
  
Marcus was _desperate._  
  
 _Don't leave me,_ he wanted to say. S _tay with me. Stay with me until every memory of all the people who left fades away. Stay until every monument in the world has eroded into nothing more than particles. Stay until the end of the world if you have to._  
  
They both knew it wasn't possible.  
  
The ruler of Hell, Satan himself, couldn't drop everything for the first murderer.  
  
So, he wanted Lucifer to get to know Marcus. Not Cain. At least that he could control.  
  
"...can I walk you home?"  
  
Lucifer looked pleasantly surprised.  
  
"Why, detective, that's awfully nice of you. They say chivalry is dead but I say it's hiding in a detective in LA."  
  
He nodded, smiling to himself.  
  
This would work. It had to.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
The walk was full of conversation.  
  
They talked about each other, their jobs or in Lucifer's case lack thereof, their lives, and their interests.  
  
Lucifer, under the guise that he was another mortal, explained to him the hardships of immortality. Marcus only nodded and kept silent. He was itching to be able to relate to him but that in and of itself would get him in a lot of trouble, especially with God watching his son so closely.  
  
The mark on his arm itched. He was glad he was wearing his trenchcoat.  
  
They stopped after a while in front of a hotel. It was velvet carpet and ropes and all. Marcus was thoroughly impressed.  
  
They stood around silently for a few more moments. Neither wanted to say goodbye just yet.  
  
"Well, detective-"  
  
"Lucifer-"  
  
A pause. Laughter. Dry and embarrassed from Marcus, easy and loud from Lucifer.  
  
"You first, then, Marc."  
  
"Okay, well," he exhaled deeply. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Lucifer. A real pleasure."  
  
"Detective," Lucifer clicked his tongue. "You're flattering me, stop it."  
  
"Um, before we go, I just wanted to give you this."  
  
Marcus pulled out his business card from his pocket.  
  
 _Dt. Marcus Pierce, LAPD,_ it read. His phone number was listed on the bottom.  
  
He handed it to Lucifer. The man took it, interest piqued.  
  
"So, if you ever want to talk or need help," Marcus hastily explained. "You can call me."  
  
Lucifer took a few seconds before tucking the card into his slacks. He smiled. It was a genuine toothy smile.  
  
"Thank you, Marcus."  
  
"And...About that thing with your dad, y-you can talk about that with me, too. Or, we don't have to, if you really don't want to. I'm not into the big guy myself."  
  
"I think it's for the best if we kept Dad out of this. He won't get to control _this_ part of my life."  
  
"...I'm a part of your life?"  
  
"I was talking more about love."  
  
"Does that mean you l...?"  
  
"Uh-uh, detective, don't say the L word." He put a finger on Marcus's lips. "Unless it's Lucifer. We don't want to rush things just yet."  
  
"Of course." He cleared his throat, nodding hastily. "Of course, sorry. Goodnight, Lu."  
  
Lucifer didn't reply. Marcus started to grow worried that he had put him off before Lucifer leaned in and kissed his cheek.  
  
The kiss lasted no longer than it had started. The wind felt like it had been knocked out of Marcus.  
  
"Goodnight, detective," he whispered cheekily. He turned and walked away.  
  
Marcus watched him go through the doors. He stayed for a good few moments after that. Then, he touched his cheek.  
  
It was warm.  
  
For the first time in centuries, he _desired_. He wanted someone, to be _with_ someone. That someone was the Devil, capital D. Lucifer Morningstar, Samael, Satan, whatever the books called him. To him, he was Lu the golden-eyed bartender with a laugh full of life and shelves full of drink.  
  
He put on his hat, straightened his tie, and walked the way he came.  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> FIRST OFF NETFLIX OWES ME ROYALTIES FOR THE 50S AU LUCIFER IDEA, JUST SAYIN', I WROTE THIS BEFORE THE TEASER CAME OUT. 
> 
> anyway
> 
> the song featured is If I Love Again by Ilene Woods. it is very lovey dovey and quite sleepy.  
> thank you for reading! look out for more because i might update this with another chapter wink wink


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